Shades of Grey
by LaylaLucky
Summary: Fred and George were more than close; they were two halves of the same whole. It's a year after Fred's death, and George's heartache is worse than ever. Oneshot.


**I kind of wish that I never wrote this one-shot. It was a spur of the moment "I-have-to-get-this-out" kind of thing, but it had a big emotional impact on me. I cried a couple of times while writing, thinking of my own brothers. Anyway, here it is. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own HP because if I did, Fred would be alive.**

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><p>The bond between siblings has always been a strong one. In times of tragedy, it's not uncommon for one to run to their brother or sister for comfort. Whether it's a death in the family, a medical emergency, or even something such as a frightening thunderstorm, the comfort siblings can give to one another is incredibly unique. Nothing compares when it comes to sibling love, and your brothers and sisters may be your closest and strongest relationships of your life. So what do you do when you lose someone that close to you?<p>

George woke up rather violently on the couch that morning. He was shaking and sweating, waiting for the last wisps of the nightmare to slip away as he clutched the corduroy fabric of the couch. The Weasley boy put his hand to his face, feeling both fresh and dried tears clinging to his cheeks. He briskly wiped them away, lower lip trembling as the date dawned on him.

One year ago today, his life lost all meaning. Half of his soul was ripped, torn from his body, and he began to live out his life as half of the man he once was. One year ago today, George lost his twin brother.

Fred and George had always been two parts of the same whole. Whenever they were talked about, it was always "Fred and George." One was rarely seen without the other, and when they were, the same question always popped up: "Where's George, Fred?" and vice-versa.  
>Sure, everyone knew that Fred and George were very close. It was obvious. They finished each other's sentences, liked all of the same things, and generally did everything together. But no one really had a clue how strong their bond really was.<p>

George stared at the opposite wall of the Burrow living room, not looking at anything in particular. He was too busy swimming in his memories.

**...**

"_George…?" A six-year-old Fred looked nervously at his brother in the bedroom that they shared._

"_Wha' 'oo you wan'?" said George, trying to chew way more Drooble's Best Blowing Gum than his little jaw could hold._

"_I did something bad." Fred was fiddling with his thumbs, looking on the verge of tears. His twin looked up at him from the floor he was sitting on._

"_Wha' 'id you 'oo?" George's voice poured concern for his brother._

"_Well…" Fred looked frantically around the room. "I didn't mean to… I just wanted… wanted to see what using a wand felt like…" George's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, the large wad of gum falling into his lap. "I didn't mean to, George! It just… zapped, and… and… mum's vase…"_

"_You broke mum's vase?" George's eyes were close to bugging out of his head. At that moment, Fred burst into tears._

_George stood up, not before sticking the wad of gum under his bed frame, and put his arm around his crying twin. Usually, Fred wasn't so emotional about getting into trouble, but he was already walking on eggshells with their mom. Just earlier, he had gotten into a lot of trouble for leaving a fake spider in Ron's bed. Fred was told that if he put one more toe out of line, he was going to bed without dinner. Fred loved to eat._

"_Come on, bro." George rubbed his brother's back. "It'll be okay, I promise."_

_Just at that moment, they heard their mother's voice booming from the living room._

"_BOYS! What happened to mummy's favorite vase?"_

_Fred's sobs turned into wails._

"_Fred, I got this." George beamed at his brother, showing off their trademarked "I'm-up-to-something" smirk._

"_What?" Fred whimpered, understanding what the smirk meant. "George, no."_

_They heard Percy yell, from a room above them: "I didn't do it, mum." Mrs. Weasley's footsteps echoed as she started up the stairs._

"_What are brothers for?" George smiled at his brother. "I love you." He wiped the last of Fred's tears from his face, receiving the "I love you too" and a returning smile as their mom threw open the door, a suspicious look on her face. George stepped forward._

"_I did it, mum."_

_**...**  
><em>

George sat up on the couch and shook his head, his long red hair fanning out around him. How he wished he could go back to those days, when everything was simple. All they ever worried about was what new prank they were going to pull on the family. One of their favorites was leaving fireworks hidden under the logs in the fireplace so to scare Mr. Weasley out of his boxers when he tried to travel the Floo network. What they loved more than performing the pranks, however, was making the pranks. And gaining profit from them, of course.

Heading into the kitchen, George saw his mom cooking eggs and bacon, his dad at the table hiding behind The Daily Prophet, and Percy sipping his coffee and absentmindedly staring into his mug.

Before Fred's death, the house had always been full, not just of people, but of love, laughter, and most of all family. Since then, Ron moved out with Hermione, and Ginny with Harry. Bill and Charlie rarely visited anymore, so it was just the four of them. Percy came back to help their dad try to hold the remaining tatters of their family together. The others never wanted to come around the Burrow anymore, and always made excuses to stay away. They said the little house had lost its charm, and that the air around it had shifted; it didn't feel like a home anymore. Who could blame them? It wasn't home without Fred.

"There you are, deary. Eat up, will you?" Mrs. Weasley smiled at George, but the grin was empty and her eyes were hollow. Mr. Weasley was the same way. He spent long hours at the office with Percy, and when he came home he barely spoke a word to anyone. George could tell that his parents were trying to move on, trying to stay strong, but to no avail. He could see through them, just as they saw through him.

George's stomach churned as he looked at the plate of food his mom set in front of him. He couldn't eat. The former twin was a good forty pounds lighter than he was a year ago, and it was mainly because of depression. You could see the weight loss clearly on his body. His face was very sharp; his cheeks were beginning to sink in. You could see his ribs and collarbone clearly. The images from his nightmares were partly to blame as stayed fresh in his mind all the time.

Nightmares were constant for George. It was always the same one, night after night. A bright flash of sickly green light, the sickening crack of his brother's head slamming into the concrete, and a nasty, blood-curdling laugh. He would grab Fred, desperately trying to wake him even though he knew that his twin died before he ever hit the ground. He'd watch his mother's heart splinter into a thousand pieces in front of his eyes, and he'd hold Fred tightly in his arms, crying, shaking from the intense, burning pain emanating from his heart. He'd struggle to breathe, clutching Fred to him and whispering "I love you, Fred, I love you" through his sobs until someone wrenched his lifeless carbon-copy from his arms. Every night George had to relive his brother's death.

He pushed his untouched plate away and, excusing himself from the table, retreated upstairs into his room. Closing the door behind him, he took in the familiar scene before him.

George's bedroom was the one thing in his life that hadn't changed. He wouldn't let his family touch a thing inside the room. It was as if Fred's half of the room had frozen in time. Every article of clothing, every knickknack had all been left untouched, as if Fred had just gone on a very long vacation and would be returning home any minute.

The red haired boy sat on his bed, recalling the last few nights he had slept here. Once, George stuffed pillows underneath Fred's comforter, to make it seem like he wasn't alone when looking across the room after waking during the night. Another night, he slept holding Fred's old Weasley sweater, one of the many their mom knitted for them; bright green with a giant "F" embroidered on the front. It had smelled just like Fred. George finally started sleeping on the couch, no longer able to handle nights here without his twin.

His eyes came to rest on a stack of old Weasley's Wizard Wheezes order forms. George remembered how he had tried in vain to make it on his own. He opened a shop in Diagon Alley, and found himself overwhelmed. It wasn't the money, the stock, or the paperwork that brought the store to the ground. It was the product.

Fred and George had always been exceptionally smart; they just never bothered to show it unless they were together, and usually alone. They came up with a general idea of a product and bounced them off of one another until they came up with something brilliant. Without Fred, all of George's inventions were half-assed; he didn't have his heart in the jokes anymore.

The former Gryffindor looked out the window above Fred's old bed. The sun was shining, and it looked like a fairly decent day, but George couldn't see it. To him, the vivid greens and crisp blues all looked muddy and dull; nothing more than shades of grey. His eyes began to water as the stabbing loneliness ricocheted in his heart, like it so often did. Soon, he had his head in his hands; sobs wracked his body and he shook uncontrollably. He barely heard the click of his door closing, barely felt Percy's arms slide around him. George fell into his big brother, his breath catching as he cried even harder.

A few tears that Percy couldn't hold back slipped and fell, splashing onto George's already tear-streaked cheeks.

"Perce," moaned George. "What… do… I do?" His voice was almost unintelligible through his sobs. Percy didn't say a word as George buried his face into his robes. The older sibling knew that there was nothing he could say. No words could ever soothe George, because the night that Fred died, George died as well.

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><p><strong>Whenever I think about Fred dying for too long, I start to cry. On a different note, I cranked out ten pages of lined paper for this baby. I wish I could put that kind of effort into my schoolwork. R.I.P- Fred Weasley.<strong>


End file.
